


Pyrrhic Victory

by rainydayphotos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: EWE, F/F, F/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydayphotos/pseuds/rainydayphotos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five years since the war, and peace has evaded Harry Potter. Between the fanatics that put a strain on his personal relationships and a dangerous career catching dark wizards, Harry is constantly reminded of the fragility of security in post-war Britain.</p><p>It's been five years since the war, and Katniss Everdeen has made a home out of her habits. In the morning, she hunts, and in the evening, she heals. The flowers in her garden carry with them the memories of the dead, so that she is constantly reminded of every sacrifice made for the stability of post-war Panem.</p><p>It's been five years, and a new war is about to begin, entangling the two lives of our unfortunate survivors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank cloudiee and kithy8D for proofreading. Chapters will alternate between Harry and Katniss's POV (third person limited) until they meet.

Harry Potter was awakened by a loud knock at his front door at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The noise had interrupted a particularly bad recurring dream of the Battle of the Seven Potters. He had spent his childhood under the watch of a genocidal megalomaniac, and he had thought that it would be over after his death, but unfortunately life was not so kind to Harry Potter. The nightmares never stopped. In his dreams, the screams of unsaved victims remained a constant reminder of Voldemort’s legacy.

Harry wiped away the sweat from his forehead and unclenched his shoulders and knees. The maroon quilt that Molly Weasley had made for him lay strewn on the floor, where it had been for half of the night. The cool autumn air enveloped his sweat-soaked body, eliciting goose flesh from his skin and shivers down his spine. He reached for his glasses and wand on his bedside table, and whispered “lumos” to illuminate his mantel clock. A quarter past four, it was early.

Harry kept a private life after the war; only a few people knew the location of Grimmauld Place. Occasionally his friends came to visit and check up on him, but the timing was unusual. He feared that there might be an emergency. The first stalker appeared four years ago. She weaved a fantasy romance with Harry powerful enough to drown herself in. She believed that Ron was an impediment to their relationship, and kidnapped him to remove the obstacle. She cornered Harry after work and demanded that he move in with her. It was the first time that Harry had ever met her. Ron was rescued after the first stalker was captured and didn’t sustain any physical wounds, but it destroyed any hopes Harry had of a peaceful personal life. There had been so many stalkers over the years, but in the end, it was the same result: involuntary admission of the stalker to the Psychiatry Ward at St. Mungo’s Hospital. He found it difficult to trust new people.

Harry put on his robe and slippers and walked towards the front door. He didn’t bother to untangle his messy black hair, but noted that it was probably time for a haircut, as it was long enough to touch his shoulders.

He opened the door to reveal a frantic Hermione. Fear flashed across his eyes, and his worries of Ron’s safety resurfaced.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” His voice sounded rough in the bare dawn air. “Is it Ron? Is it Rose? Is it -”

Understanding his worries, Hermione relaxed her expression and placed a placating hand on his shoulder. “Everyone is fine, but I am here on important business.”

There was an excited twinkle in Hermione’s eyes, which reassured Harry of his loved ones’ safety. He invited her into the foyer, and ignored the muffled complaints of the portrait of Walburga Black. Grimmauld Place underwent massive renovations after Harry moved in, but the portrait of Walburga Black could not be removed due to a Permanent Sticking Charm. Harry is thankful for small mercies like Silencing Charms that masked her bigoted expletives. Hermione placed her outer robes and hat on the coat rack, and took a seat on the sofa in the sitting room.

“Tea?” Harry asked.

“Yes, please. Earl Grey, if you have any.”

Harry went to the kitchen and charmed a fire to heat the kettle. The fire grew too quickly and bit his index finger.

“Shit!”

Harry was unfortunately inept in a magical kitchen. Kreacher was the one who prepared his meals, but his shift wouldn’t be starting until half past seven. The atrocities of the Second Wizarding War had prompted the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to make amendments to the National Bill of Economic, Social, Cultural, Civil, and Political Rights of Magical Creatures. Unpaid house-elf servitude was declared to be an infringement of economic and political rights, and all house-elves were freed. Many house-elves were initially displeased with this development due to generations of internalized beliefs of their political inferiority, while others celebrated their freedom and expressed resentment towards the lifetimes of servitude. Winky, in the memory of Dobby, created the Union for the National Interests of the Elves (U.N.I.T.E.) demanding equitable wage and reasonable hours. Hermione was a prominent supporter of U.N.I.T.E., but having matured from her schoolgirl days, she recognized the importance of having house-elf leaders speak for their own cause, and she arranged for platforms and interviews for Winky. Kreacher felt disdain towards the new liberated house-elf mentality, but nevertheless agreed with the union guidelines and negotiated with Harry to work from half past seven in the morning to half past three in the evening.

“Are you okay there, Harry?” Hermione called towards the kitchen.

“I’m fine, I’ve had a bit of an accident with the kettle.”

“Again?” Hermione put her bag on the sofa and went to the kitchen to help Harry with the tea.

She cast a healing spell on Harry’s finger and cooling charm on the fire.

“Harry, you’ve got to start learning your way around a kitchen. Kreacher isn’t always here, and since you refuse all my attempts to set you up with a date -” 

“Can we please not talk about my love life right now?” Harry searched the shelves for his teapot, unsure of where Kreacher had put it. 

“I just want to see you happy.”

“I know you do, but it just doesn’t seem right.” Harry finally found the teapot on thefourth shelf of the wall cupboard, behind several rows of mismatched teacups. 

“It’s been three years since you and Ginny broke up, don’t you think it’s time to move on?” 

“This isn’t about Ginny, I just…” 

Hermione grabbed the teapot and tin of Earl Grey tea from Harry’s hands, and set it on the worktop. She scooped the appropriate amount of dried black tealeaves, orange rinds, and jasmine into the pot and poured in hot water from the kettle. 

“I just want to meet someone who won’t see ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’ tattooed on my forehead.” 

Hermione gave him a small smile. “Give it time Harry, you’re a great bloke. Once a girl gets over the whole Savour bit, she’ll see you’re a lazy sod just like the rest of ‘em.” 

Harry laughed despite himself, “I see that Ron has rubbed off on you.” 

“I should think so, we’ve been married for long enough.” 

“Four years isn’t that long.” 

“Well, I’ve been in love with him since I was 14, and having a newborn takes years off your life.” 

“But you love them.” 

“Of course. Ron likes to joke that Rosie is his favourite miscast charm.” Hermione chuckled to herself. “Oh would you like to see new photographs? In my objective opinion, she has the cutest little hands and feet, and she’s not as pink as she was in the hospital.” Hermione rushed back to the sitting room to rummage through her bag. 

Harry set down the two warm teacups of Earl Grey on the birch table in front of the sofa. 

“Is this the urgent business that couldn’t wait until morning?”

Although Harry loved his new goddaughter very much, he was becoming slightly drained regarding the amount of fawning over the tiny girl. If he was honest with himself, he was a little jealous because he couldn’t share this experience with his friends in his current single state. After the war, Harry had allowed himself to dream of a happy family with children that would grow up along with Ron and Hermione’s, but after the dissolution of his relationship with Ginny and the lack of realistic prospects thereafter, he’d given up on this dream and resigned to a life of bachelorhood. Hermione thought he was being ridiculous, considering he was only 22 years old, and had attempted many (unsuccessful) tries at matchmaking him with an eligible witch. 

“No no, that’s not why I’m here. I guess photos can wait for another time.” She swiftly tucked the photos back in the zipped compartment of her bag, and took out a wooden tube instead. Slowly and deliberately, she took out a scroll from the cylinder. 

“I found this map in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. In Helga Hufflepuff’s journal to be exact.” Hermione delicately unrolled the timeworn parchment on the sitting room table. 

“What were you doing back there, with Helga Hufflepuff’s journal?” Harry asked. 

“I was doing an independent research project for the Department of Mysteries. I’m an Unspeakable, you know I’m not supposed to talk about my work there, but that’s beside the point. Look at it, what do you see?” 

Harry turned his attention to Hermione instead of the map. “And Madam Pince just let you walk out with it?” 

“She’s gotten less severe over the years, but no, she doesn’t know it’s gone.” 

“Why Hermione, are you breaking school rules?” Harry teased. He felt nostalgic of their early days at Hogwarts. Hermione has strayed far from the rule conformist that she was in first year. Necessity has always revised rules into suggestions. 

“Oh, you’re one to talk. And we’re not students anymore.” 

“No judgement on my part. How’d you do it?” 

“Remember when I tore out a page of a library book without getting jinxed?” 

“Vaguely.” 

“It’s a modified version of the spell I used. It allows me to take out books and other materials from Hogwarts without being detected. But we’re getting off topic. Look at the parchment.” 

Harry casually swept his eyes over the left side of the parchment. 

“A map?” 

“Obviously. What’s special about this one?” 

He looked back at the map, but he wasn’t following Hermione’s train of thought. Other than the ancient quality of the paper, it seemed like an ordinary enchanted map. 

Hermione sighed in exasperation. “Look at the date.” 

She pointed towards the left bottom corner of the parchment. Although the ink was slightly smudged, Harry could clearly make out the numbers ‘993’. Hermione looked at Harry expectedly. 

Harry returned his glance to Hermione. “I don’t understand the significance.” 

“Honestly Harry, have you learnt anything from the History of Magic?” 

“Yes, it’s better to sleep on pillows than wooden tables. It leaves less of a mark,” Harry grinned. 

Hermione elbowed him. “22 years old and still a child. Pay attention, this is important!” 

“Hogwarts was founded in 993 AD. That means this map has been preserved for almost 11 centuries! Muggle maps at the time were in their infancy stage and highly flawed. The closest corresponding 10th century muggle map was Ibn Hawqal’s, which is limited to his own personal travels to areas which we now call the Middle East, Europe, Africa, and Asia. It wasn’t until the 16th century that Abraham Ortelius wrote the Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, which is considered the first modern atlas. However, this map is almost identical, almost, to the Theatrum Orbis Terrarum …”

Hermione was starting to ramble and the tone of her voice was beginning to sound dangerously close to Professor Binn’s. In combination with early morning drowsiness, Harry was already beginning to fade back into sleep. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Hermione shook Harry’s shoulders. “Wake up Harry!” 

“I … err …yeah! I’m a-awake!” 

Harry took off his glasses and began to rub his eyelids. 

“Hermione, not that I don’t appreciate your visit, but I really don’t see why this couldn’t have waited until the morning. I have ten cases to sort through today. We can talk about this during lunch instead.” Harry got up to walk towards the stairs. 

Hermione grabbed his arm. “I’ll get straight to the point then.” 

Harry sat back down. “Please do.” 

Hermione took a sip of her tea, and started gesturing towards the right side of the map. 

“Look at the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean, there in the Northern hemisphere, right above America.  There’s a landmass there!” 

Harry carefully scanned the map this time. In between the steak-shaped Greenland and the drumstick-shaped America (clearly Harry was becoming a little hungry) was another landmass. It was large enough to be the size of a continent, with islands that spanned towards Greenland in the northeast corner, its southeast tip touched the northern coast of America, and its northwest side seemed close enough to Russia that a bridge could be built between the two lands. Harry was beginning to understand Hermione’s fascination with the landmass; it never appeared in any of his Hogwarts textbooks or his muggle primary school textbooks or any museums and archives he’d visited. 

“I’ve compared this map with several modern muggle and wizard maps and it’s not on any of them,” Hermione continued. 

“Maybe the original mapmaker estimated incorrectly; it’s an awfully old map.” 

Hermione shook her head.

“I’ve cast a few diagnostic spells on it, and found that it’s created with the same spell that modern mapmakers use. This map is a definitive representation of the world in 993 AD.” 

“But how can a continent just disappear?” 

“I don’t know. I initially thought it was enchanted to be unplottable like Hogwarts, but -” 

“But?” 

“But for a landmass this large to be enchanted, it would require a lot of magic. There would be a record, a paper trail at least. But I’ve scoured through all the dossiers on magical lands, in the Department of Mysteries and otherwise, and nothing!” Hermione threw her arms up in frustration. 

“So you’re here to…rant?” 

“No! I’m here to tell you the good news! I thought it was a dead end, but then I thought about who owes me favours at the Ministry. I tutored the Ministry’s Official Mapmaker’s daughter in Fifth Year Transfiguration last summer, so I showed up at his doorstep to collect the debt.” 

“Then what happened?” 

“He was hesitant at first, but I assured him that my interests were purely academic and I promised to help tutor his daughter in four additional topics for the upcoming term. Then he told me about the M.O.L.E.” 

“The mole?”

“Not many wizards know about it; the Ministry keeps it a secret for good reason. M-O-L-E stands for Map of Lands Enchanted.The map was a joint project of the U.K.N.O.W.”

The U.K.N.O.W. is an abbreviation for the United Kith Nations of Wizards, an intergovernmental organization that was established after the Second Wizarding War to prevent international conflict. The Golden Trio was invited to attend the opening ceremony of the U.K.N.O.W. Headquarters in Geneva four years ago. Notable witches and wizards gave stirring speeches about the U.K.N.O.W.’s promise of global peace and security. Harry remained sceptical of the permanency of said peace, but he never broadcasted his insecurities. There was far too much loss and sorrow after the war. However small the sliver of hope; it was enough to allow life to continue. 

Hermione continued with her explanation, “The M.O.L.E. was created by the U.K.N.O.W. as a warning system. All of the warded lands are plotted on it. If one Ministry is attacked by an unknown force, the map will activate and send warnings to the offices of the Ministers of Magic in all surrounding lands.”

“How does this relate to your Founders Era Map?” 

“The mapmaker couldn’t show me the actual map, it would cost him his job, but he did tell me it was somewhere heavily guarded inside the U.K.N.O.W. Headquarters.” 

“Hermione, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” 

“I think it’s worth investigating,” Hermione said primly. 

“I can’t believe _I_ have to be the one to tell _you_ this, but I think this is a bad idea.”

“Breaking into the U.K.N.O.W. HQ is Ron’s idea actually, I just happen to agree.”

“If he’s in on this, why isn’t he here to talk about it?” 

“We flipped a knut, loser had to watch Rosie. She still wakes up at odd hours,” Hermione clarified, rubbing her brows in remembrance of her dreadful sleeping patterns as of late. _Rose isn’t the only one_ , Harry thought morosely about the state of his morning.

“Okay, let’s just say we do break in and find the map, what do you hope to gain from all of this?”

“Peace. You were there with us the day of the opening ceremony; I saw the unease in your eyes and the enduring weight on your shoulders. If the U.K.N.O.W. is hiding a continent from ordinary wizards…I don’t know yet…I just find it to be very suspicious.”

Harry took a sip of his tea. It tasted bitter and was already cold from being ignored for so long. He thought about all the years that the Dursleys had lied to him. He thought about all the years that Dumbledore had lied to him. What would have happened if he had found out the truth about his parents earlier? The truth about his identity earlier? The truth about the prophecy? Could more people have been saved? Would more people have been killed? It was fruitless to ponder what ifs because nothing can change the past anymore, but still his mind runs in cycles of his past regrets. The past can’t be changed, but the future can be protected.

Harry had decided; he was going to stop waiting for authority figures to reveal truths and find out facts by himself.


	2. The Girl On Fire

Katniss awakened in the darkness. It was two hours before dawn, and the first rays of morning had not yet broken through the horizon. Katniss was tired; her body ached and her mind was muddled. She could only count the time she hadslept in minutes and not hours. In the hollow of the night, she was transported back to the Capitol, back to the arenas, back to District 13, back to the screams of horror and the bloodstains that couldn’t be washed off her hands. Chaos and tragedy colored her dreams, leaving her perpetually sullen and drained.

Through the haze of lethargy, she looked at her surroundings. She was in her bedroom in Victor’s Village. The corners of her bed sheet remained tucked neatly under the mattress despite her night tremors. Her mother had picked up the habit of making hospital corners on bed sheets from her time in District 4. The whole chamber resembled a hospital room. Aside from a collection of photo frames on her dresser, her room was sparse in personal accessories. Her mother liked to clean up after her messes, ensuring that her hunting equipment and clothes were tucked back into their proper compartments. The sterility to her mother’s cleanliness initially unsettled Katniss, but she was thankful for the absence of fragile things to destroy. 

The early breeze sent chills down her spine. She was always cold in the mornings. It had been 6 months after her split with Peeta. Long after the passion had faded, she missed his warmth. She had grown accustomed, comfortable to the outline of his body; the valleys of his chest where she rested her head and the arms that held her through the nightmares. She missed the feeling of the rise and fall of his chest, the sound of another heartbeat anchoring her to the present day. Sometimes she could feel his ribs when he held her tight, and she wondered if he was fully recovered from the war. In the daylight, Peeta was the same amiable and gentle-spirited man he was before the war, but he too had his terrors at night. At times, he would lose touch with reality and she would be on the receiving end of violence. Their nights weren’t always peaceful, but still, she got used to sleeping beside another person. After the breakup, the first night was unbearable. She had felt like the living dead as she rose every half hour. The next night, she went to her mother’s room.

It felt regressive for her to seek maternal comfort after a night of bad dreams; it’s an act she’s avoided since adolescence. For years she had resented her mother for her abandonment after her father’s death. Rosemary Everdeen was a stranger to the world after the passing of her husband. In the first year after his passing, she barely moved or talked. Katniss and Prim were left to fend off for themselves. Prim would wake up crying, crying for her father to sing her a lullaby, and Katniss would clasp Prim’s tiny hand in her own, and walk to their mother’s room, only to find Rosemary siting as still as a sculpture, staring blankly at the wall. No matter how many times Katniss would call her name or shake her arm, Rosemary would not respond. After Prim’s death, she felt closer to her mother, she understood the depth of her mother’s suffering and loss. 

The first night after Katniss’ breakup with Peeta, Rosemary did not neglect her. She held Katniss in her arms and sang her husband’s lullabies until Katniss fell asleep. But unlike Peeta, Rosemary was vulnerable in her sleep. When Katniss thrashed in her slumber from gruesome flashbacks, her mother was unable to defend herself. More than twice Rosemary ended up on the floor with sprains and bruises. Before more damage could be done, Katniss returned to her own room where there was only one person she could harm. Less sleep was a small sacrifice for her loved ones’ safety. 

Katniss sat up from her bed and walked to her dresser to get ready for the day. There were no mirrors in her room. Vanity was an indulgence that she didn’t have the time to foster. Occasionally Katniss wondered how she looked before the wink of dawn. Her long hair was in disarray and resembled black lichen rather than the fine satin produced by Capitol stylists, her gray eyes contained visible red veins along the whites and prominent under eye bags, and her olive skin was a little lighter and drier from the fall weather. She was always short and thin for her age and had only grown one inch since adolescence. She combed and braided her hair, and then pulled the top drawer of her dresser open to take out her hunting clothes and equipment.

There were more tears on her father’s old hunting jacket than there used to be. Her mother had mended most of them, but Katniss knew that it was held at its seams. She would have to retire it soon, the jacket hand-stitched by the grandmother who died before she could pass on her skills of needlework. The river birch self bow her father had made remained in good shape although the bowstring had been replaced numerous times. Her obsidian arrows were kept in an embroidered leather quiver that Peeta had gifted her a few years back. After she examined her weapons for cracks and inefficiencies, she ventured to the kitchen to pack some bread and water for her hunting trip. Buttercup was already at the back door, yowling to be let in.

“I’m coming you stupid cat!”

Some of Greasy Sae’s leftover fish head soup clung to the bottom of the stockpot on the stove. Katniss turned on the heat and let Buttercup into the kitchen.

“I apologize _gravely_ for the delay. Your breakfast will be ready in a few moments, _Your Excellency_ ,” Katniss said in a mock Capitol accent. 

Buttercup stared at her petulantly and hissed.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I haven’t skinned you and made you into cat sauce.” 

Katniss poured the fish head soup into a little bowl, and placed it in front of the impatient cat. 

“Don’t make a mess of the kitchen. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

With her hunting bag packed, Katniss gently rubbed Buttercup’s head before heading out the door. Buttercup made a gruff meow in acknowledgement and returned to his ravenous chewing of the bone tissue.

Once outside, Katniss surveyed the surrounding area. President Snow might be dead, but it doesn’t mean that the Capitol’s surveillance on her has ended. New political system, new politicians, and new laws all mean nil if you’re the Mockingjay. The new Capitol government might not blackmail like Snow, but Katniss did not have the freedom of movement like other Panem citizens. She was legally confined to District 12 as per the conditions of her exemption of President Coin’s assassination. She was also forbidden from appearing on public broadcasts and speaking in public arenas unless it was preapproved by a Capitol politician.

_“For your own safety,” Plutarch explained. “We have detained the majority of Snow’s supporters, but there are many more in hiding. Once we have captured them all, the restrictions will be lifted.”_

Five years have passed since Plutarch had said that to her. All her petitions for the removal of the restrictions had been denied despite the lack of activity from any so-called Snow supporters. The sweet promises of politicians left a sour taste in her mouth. She frowned at the camera hidden under the gutters of her neighbor’s roof. 

Katniss walked along the main street in Victor’s Village to Haymitch’s house. The mansions were in pristine shape. There wasn’t even a scratch on their white façades after the bombing, whereas a wasteland was made of the Seam and the merchant district. Nothing remained of Katniss’ childhood home or the Mellark Bakery in the aftermath. With no homes left to go back to, the unused houses in Victor’s Village were converted into shared housing for the returning citizens. Rebuilding took years. Finally, District 12 was beginning to look habitable again. Many of the residents moved out when individual houses were made available, but Greasy Sae and her granddaughter stayed in Katniss’ house while Peeta lived with Haymitch. Families where breadwinners worked in other districts inhabited the remaining mansions, including Gale’s family. 

Haymitch’s house looked cleaner than it did when he lived alone, but the pungent odor of liquor, vomit, and rotten food still encased the dining room where Haymitch spent the majority of his days. She wondered if the vomit on the floor was the result of one of Haymitch’s drunken episodes or nausea induced by the stench alone.

She found Haymitch in his usual spot; limp across the dining table. His left hand clutched onto an empty bottle of rum. There were no puddles of deserted alcohol, which means his alcohol stores were running low. The stove had a slight dent on the right side, but there were still enough coals to make a small fire. Katniss found the tin coffeepot and ground coffee packets in the cabinet above the sink, Peeta must’ve put them there. She filled the pot with water, and poured the contents of the packets into the pot. The robust smell of coffee dissipated some of the putrid odor of the kitchen, but it was not enough to wake Haymitch. 

Katniss gingerly extracted the knife from Haymitch’s right hand and yelled, “Get up!” 

Haymitch only murmured in response. 

“I’ll use the water bucket!”

Haymitch sat up with a start, “I’m up! I’m up!”

He abandoned the rum bottle in his left hand and grasped his right hand tightly, searching for his knife. When he found it was empty, he groggily glanced up at Katniss. 

“Katniss? Oh it’s only you. I’m going back to sleep.” He relaxed both hands and laid them back on the kitchen table, nestling his head in the space in between.

Katniss put Haymitch’s knife in her hunting bag and pushed him upright, “Come on Haymitch, it’s time to get up. Dr. Aurelius said it was a good idea for you to get some fresh air.” 

“He’s not _my_ shrink, I don’t have to listen to his suggestions.” Haymitch shoved her arms away from his chest and fell back to the table. 

“Well, you can’t lay around your house all day. The next alcohol shipment will arrive in 2 days’ time.”

Haymitch’s kept his eyes closed. “I’ve got my geese.”

“Peeta takes care of your geese. Come hunting with me.” 

“Take Peeta.”

“We both know this isn’t my choice, and Peeta has to open up the bakery.” 

Haymitch slothfully sat up again, balancing himself with his left arm on the table. “You know, our conversations would be more pleasant if you were less of a nag.”

Katniss rolled her eyes. “Come on now.” 

“Alright, alright…Waking a man up at this ungodly hour… and don’t talk so loudly, you’re giving me a headache.”

Katniss extinguished the stove fire, poured the coffee into a mug, and held it up in front of Haymitch’s face. Haymitch scrunched his face.

“You know I hate the taste of this shit.”

“Drink up, you’ll need it to stay awake.” 

Haymitch’s hand trembled as he held the mug, spilling drops onto the floor.

With a lioness’ labour, Katniss got Haymitch up and out of the house. He trailed silently behind her as they walked towards the woods. On most of their outings, Haymitch didn’t engage in the hunt but watched from a safe distance. With the Capitol’s continued surveillance on Katniss’ activities, Haymitch’s attendance in her morning hunts was only a technicality. It wasn’t illegal to hunt in the woods anymore, but Dr. Aurelius expressed concern that hunting would have a negative effect on Katniss’ mental stability and suggested a Capitol-sanctioned monitor to guarantee her personal safety. Katniss objected vehemently. She hated the way Capitol health workers treated her like fragile glass or a disobedient child. Haymitch volunteered to be her monitor in the place of someone from the Capitol. He slacked off at his job, an act that fueled Katniss’ annoyance and appreciation.

Dim light characterized the path to the woods; most of the District citizens were only beginning to rise from their slumber. Medicine factory workers in the Seam prepared breakfast for their workday before their families woke up. Merchants moved downstairs to start opening up for the first wave of customers. 

Entering and exiting the surrounding woods has been easier since the destruction of the District Fence. Like the citizens, the forest was also slowly recovering. Grasses, herbs, and low shrubs grew in the once-empty soil on the edges of the woods. The core remained vivacious and densely populated. Katniss and Haymitch found a hiding spot, close enough to the outskirts of the woods to find their way back and a decent distance from the habitats of crepuscular animals. Now all they had to do was wait.

Light began to flood the sky as the sun rose closer to the horizon. Katniss surveyed the cobalt blue sky for birds when a distortion of color caught her eye. For only a second, the consistency of the sky seemed to change.

And Katniss was back in the arena. She had to protect Peeta, but he was too far away. Johanna and Finnick had betrayed her. She had to throw them off from Peeta’s direction. It was up to her to carry out Beetee’s plans. Pain drowned her body, her arm was sore, but one shot was all she needed. Find the crack in the armor, shoot it, and the whole force field will break.

She positioned her arrow and shot. 

It didn’t work. 

No, it had to work! She grabbed more arrows, and shot frantically at the force field. It had to work! She couldn’t let the Capitol win! 

“Katniss!” a hoarse voice called to her. 

“Katniss!” 

Peeta was too far away. Beetee was dying. Finnick was fast approaching, but it didn’t sound like him. Who was this voice?

“Your name is Katniss Everdeen. You are 22 years old. Your home is in District 12. You are hunting in the woods.” 

She felt a strong pressure on her left wrist. Someone was clutching her arm but she couldn’t make out his face. She had to fight him off and complete Beetee’s plan. She stepped forward and lifted her left hand towards to her right shoulder. Her arm was freed, now she can attack. She elbowed him in the chest and he cried in pain. She stepped back and positioned her body perpendicular to her assailant. She gripped her hand but found it empty. Where was her bow? 

“Your name is Katniss Everdeen! You are hunting in the woods of District 12!” 

It was the same voice that called before, she recognized this voice. Haymitch! She wasn’t in the arena, she was in the woods of District 12. She adjusted her vision and found herself on the grass field at the edge of the forest. The ground was littered with her arrows. Her bow and quiver were tossed haphazardly on a shrub. Haymitch was in front of her, breathing heavily from exhaustion and pain. 

Shame washed over Katniss as she apprehended of her actions. “Haymitch…I’m - I’m - I -”

“It’s ok. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He waved a hand dismissively as she stepped forward to inspect his injuries. 

“Let’s go back and have mom look at your wounds.” Haymitch nodded, and waited for Katniss to collect her hunting equipment.

“What triggered it?” 

“I don’t know.”


End file.
